Paint
by nuttycookie
Summary: Being told to 'do nothing' all day is a tall order for Soubi to fill...but when Ritsuka tells him to paint whatever he feels, he pours his all into communicating what he cannot say in words. One-shot. Semi-fluff.


A/N: Consider this as a thank-you to all my wonderful, faithful reviewers from my other one-shots. I appreciate the input from each and every one of you—muchos, muchos gracias! I hope you enjoy this next snapshot. There are no real warnings or spoilers this time.

Disclaimer: I am not a mangaka. If I were, Loveless would look more like a bunch of stick figures doodled by a five-year-old. Simple as that.

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It was first decreed earlier that morning that Soubi would stay home and do _nothing_. Ritsuka was planning on going out with his schoolmates—_friends_, he reminded himself belatedly—and insisted that Soubi do…well, nothing. The frustrated boy at the helm of the relationship soon found that commanding a person to do _absolutely_ _nothing_, particularly if that person was a certain blonde sentouki, was far more trouble than it was worth. Soubi simply did not know _how _to _do_ _nothing _in the sense that Ritsuka intended. He only wanted his friend to have a day off, to relax and recharge for a while. How could one possibly issue specific orders detailing what to do in order to do _nothing_? It was more work than going to school and harder than a spell battle on the moon. Though he had never experienced the latter, the boy was certain that fighting on an interplanetary space body would be much more trouble than it was worth. _An apt comparison_, he mused.

Thus he had revised the command—or replaced it, really—with a request for Soubi to spend his day painting, instead. He was not to worry about anything else, or _do_ anything else, unless it was related to the task at hand or his own health and comfort. Ritsuka did _not _want to come home later and find that the man had been _stupid _enough to not eat all day, or didn't the restroom or something equally _stupid_, just because he hadn't been ordered to. He felt a little bit like he was caring for a puppy: sweet, pleasant to be around, but not particularly self-aware.

_Okay, _he thought, _That was a little harsh…but…I can't help but worry over that idiot; he doesn't think of himself enough._

So now the young neko was found stretched across the plush rug, scrunching his toes rhythmically into the thick lavender strands and glancing up from a thick book. Dostoyevsky was great for practicing his English skills, and really tested his attentions span, he figured. The fighter was thoroughly engrossed in his own work, but no tension was seen in his frame, except when he leaned forward to paint thoughtful, controlled strokes that came out looking like loose, abstract sketch marks. Ritsuka couldn't make out what the picture was even supposed to be at this point, so he ended up studying the form of the artist instead. His shoulders really _weren't_ all that broad, the younger boy realized. It was just that his figure took on an hourglass shape in relation to his abnormally slim waist, all stretched over a tall, lean form. His muscles were clearly defined through the back of his shirt, pulled taught for long moments as he contorted to peer at different angles at the messy-looking canvas. His chest heaved deliberately as he let out a hushed sigh, and one hand reached up to scratch an apparently itchy spot on his neck, with fingers stained with dried cerulean and gray paint. Ritsuka was about to beat him to it, gently tugging on the end of the wrapped linen that bandaged the scarred neck, which he could reach if he got on his tiptoes…

"Ritsuka-kun! Are you ready to go?"

The shrill voice, coupled with a sharp rapping at the door, made the boy curse under his breath, earning a bemused chuckle from Soubi. He hadn't even realized that his feet had taken him to his fighter's side.

"Sounds like your friends are here, _koibito_," the man said playfully, wagging a multicolored finger in his sacrifice's face. Predictably, the boy flushed and darted away toward the door, pausing only to grab his bag and cell phone. As soon as the door opened, Yuiko zipped in, Yayoi following more hesitantly. Ritsuka sighed and watched as the pink-haired girl began conversing animatedly with his fighter.

"Hi, Yayoi-san," he muttered in a halfhearted attempt at hospitality, even though this wasn't exactly _his_ house anyway…

"Oh Ritsuka, I don't understand that girl sometimes," the long haired male wailed. "She'll talk to anyone, I swear—it took us forever to get here because she started talking to some little kids—but earlier, when I picked her up from her house, she was going on about 'how frustrating it is to be so _shy_' and…" Ritsuka tuned out a bit, amused but not wanting to dwell too heavily on the bemoanings and apparent fickleness of his friends. His mental processes could be put to better use.

Several minutes later, Yuiko came prancing back to her companions, arms swinging and ears perked happily. "Come on, let's go—I want to try that new strawberry basil ice cream!" She walked backwards through the doorway, waving at the tall, older male left behind in the apartment. "Bye-bye, Soubi-san! Thank-you for showing me your pictures!"

Yayoi bowed respectfully and followed Yuiko out; Ritsuka barely slipped out the door in time to avoid an awkward embrace, or worse…

"Don't be out too late, Ritsuka," Soubi called after him, expression pleasant on the surface but somehow unreadable, "and call me if you need anything."

Eyes rolled almost audibly from where Ritsuka was brushing off any traces left of concern for the blonde 'puppy'. "Yeah, yeah, I know." The door slammed behind him and the boy raced off to join his friends for the rest of the afternoon.

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"Soubi-san seems so happy today!" Yuiko's tail was wagging eagerly in unrestrained excitement; Ritsuka raised an eyebrow at her comment, which was more than enough to egg her on. "I mean, Soubi-san is always so nice…but today he just seemed happier than usual. And he was so messy, too! He's normally so neat and clean…but I think he must have been finger painting or something. It looked like so much fun!" Yuiko leaned down to look Ritsuka in the eye, her whole face seeming to glow. "Soubi-san is really wonderful when he's happy, I really hope he can be like that more often!" She giggled brightly and ran ahead of the boys, causing Yayoi to chase after her worriedly. Ritsuka lingered behind and thought, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

"Soubi seemed…happier? Messy? _Fun?_" He shook his head. That was the desired result of his order today, but… "How did I not notice that?" He sighed and looked over at his friends, who were running around and laughing as though they didn't have a care in the world. "Would Soubi ever do something like that?" the boy pondered aloud, watching his companions at play. "I wonder what that would look like? Weird, probably…but…I think…I think I might want to see it anyway." He heard his name called, bringing him back to reality, and he took off at a sprint to catch up.

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By the time Ritsuka _did_ come back, it was well past eleven. It was much too late to have Soubi accompany him to his own house; he didn't want to think what his mother would do if he came prancing in close to midnight, so it would be safer to stay at Soubi's and hope she hadn't noticed the absence. He felt a little guilty as he opened the door. He _hadn't _called Soubi at all, let alone asked to stay the night. The door was unlocked, but the inside was completely darkened and lifeless.

Ritsuka bumped into what was probably the leg of a chair with his kneecap and hissed quietly. Turning, he saw a bowl of untouched noodles, a set of chopsticks, and couple of strawberries placed neatly on the small table in the kitchen. His heart sank; there was a little note in a delicate cursive scrawl with his name beside the strawberries. He strained to read it in the dark: "I thought you might like these—_suki dayo_". A small daisy was sketched beside the text in phenomenal detail.

"Soubi," the boy murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm sorry…" He wandered around the house, trying to feel his way around the inky space. He found the other male stretched out on the couch. The blonde was sound asleep, with his hair a complete mess, paint streaking his apron and splotched all over his hands. His glasses were askew, hanging halfway off his face, as though he had collapsed there without intending to sleep. Ritsuka knelt and brushed some of the fair strands of hair off his friend's cheeks, chuckling when he spotted a streak of purple in one stray lock. Soubi stirred, blinking his eyes open with obvious difficulty, before nearly leaping off the couch, startled almost out of his chalky skin.

"R-Ritsuka," he stammered, flushing and completely out of character, "I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize!" the boy interjected, rising to his feet and putting a hand to his partner's chest to stop him. Soubi stiffened, his body tensing noticeably, and Ritsuka looked away, suddenly finding the tips of his shoes incredibly fascinating. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I didn't call, and I didn't ask if I could stay here tonight, but I—"

"It's okay." It was Soubi's turn to interrupt. "I won't lie to you, though: I was worried." The man shook his head roughly and grasped the hand that lingered on his torso in his larger one. "The important thing is that you're alright. And I'm always happy to have you stay here, you know that."

"…Okay." Ritsuka's shoulders slumped.

"Are you hungry?"

"No…sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's alright."

A long, dark tail, swished about as its owner paced around the living room, head down, while Soubi's slender fingers sought out the light switch. Both males blinked against the spots in their eyes that resulted, and Ritsuka then found his gaze drawn to an intricately painted canvas tucked away in the corner of the room, as though the artist were hiding it. He regarded the artwork carefully, approaching as though he had come across a wounded animal in the park. In a way, he really was.

"…Soubi?" His voice broke and trembled, hesitant. "Is this what you were working on today?"

Ritsuka thought for sure that if Soubi still had his ears and tail that the former would be flat against his head and the latter firmly between his legs. Soubi's expression was so uncertain and vulnerable and frightened that he felt his insides tighten in sympathy. "Yes, Ritsuka." The man hung his head and shuffled his right foot against the laminate floor—a very _un_Soubi gesture. "…Do you dislike it?"

"I didn't say that," was the hurried reply as his petite form came closer to inspect the fruits of Soubi's labor. He had told the man to enjoy himself and paint whatever he _felt_, whatever reflected himself…_this _was the result?

"I…wanted to show you something that is difficult for me to communicate in words," the sandy blonde murmured, pausing often. This worried Ritsuka, but at least he was talking."You said to portray how I feel, so…" He trailed off, stilling his foot in exchange for fidgeting with his glasses.

Ritsuka was astonished. The image was of a pale yellow and blue bird with bald patches and deep, horrid scratches littering across its little body. Could a bird have mange? This one did, he thought. Mangled feathers were scattered, hanging suspended in mid-air, with little crimson stains…yet the bird's face was peaceful, its eyes closed as it slept in a solitary sunny patch. It was tucked into a tiny nest among the upper branches of a thin, inky black tree. Lavender highlights streaked the undersides of what few leaves were left there, and the slender trunk was marred severely…but the tree was still beautifully depicted and took up the vast majority of the canvas. The perspective was such that the viewer was up in the branches with the fragile, battered songbird, enjoying the soft sunshine and cozy nest.

In the lower left corner, strewn with murky shadows and coppery rust, was a harsh-looking birdcage. It was horrible, but only noticed upon second glance: ugly, cold, dirty, and incredibly _lonely_ down on the forest floor. Ritsuka's eyes bulged when he spotted the soft downy feathers that were stuck on vicious thorns and pinned between iron bars. There were signs of a struggle; had such a delicate little creature fought its way out of that unforgiving cage all on its own? His heart broke.

"Soubi," Ritsuka, whispered, willing back tears fiercely, his ears flat yet straining to pick up something—_any _response—from his seemingly mute fighter. "Is this how you really feel?" His question was met with silence, an answer enough in itself. "Why…tell me, why is that? What is this? I want to understand. I know you're in pain, but I want to know, why this…?"

"Ritsuka," Soubi grasped at the boy's arm and pulled them face to face as he knelt, interrupting his partner's rambling with a finger to his lips. "You are my tree." He attempted to look into Ritsuka's eyes, with much difficulty, and the result was the most tremulous, uncertain look the boy had ever seen. "You've given me a nest when all I had before was that cage." He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath before he continued. "I never knew of anything else, and I still don't fully understand what it's supposed to be like having you for a master, but I'm trying. I really am, I swear. And…despite this," he looked up again and gestured to the battered image of the bird on the canvas, "…I'm just happy you let me stay with you, being as I am."

Ritsuka had caught a glimpse of a single tear caught on the man's pale lashes, and he reached forward to brush it away as tenderly as he could. Soubi started and snapped to attention immediately, but his sacrifice nearly tackled him to the floor before he could even think about composing himself.

"Stupid Soubi," the boy muttered into his bandaged neck, his tail moving to coil around the small of his fighter's back while he curled into the broad, warm chest that surrounded him. "'Let you stay'? You dummy; I _want _you here! You're a very important person to me, and you always will be. And…I know you've been through a lot, but despite whatever is in that head of yours…you're still beautiful to me, okay?" He pulled away slightly to give the man a stern, hard look in the face. There was no self-conscious flush to accompany his words this time. "I don't want you ever thinking of yourself as any less than that ever again. Understand?" He swore that felt his fighter's heart skip a beat—or two, or maybe three—and the man's face morphed from frightened to shocked to overwhelmed to a strange mixture of pain and joy. A second tear formed and slid down a finely chiseled cheek unashamedly until it disappeared below his chin.

"Alright, Ritsuka." The barest hint of a smile graced his features as he clutched his sacrifice's small form tightly to himself. After a moment, his voice tried to be playful and teasing again, but fell short as it cracked with strain: "So, do you like the picture, then?"

"Dummy, of course I do!" Ritsuka exclaimed crossly against the fabric of the artist's smock, but not making any moves to protest the prolonged contact. His tail twitched from where it still rested against Soubi's back, and the man struggled to avoid twitching. "It's beautiful, and I feel like I understand you a lot better now…so I'm glad you painted it."

_I'm glad I had a reason to paint it,_ Soubi thought to himself, breathing in the scent of lavender and pine as the minutes ticked by contentedly. He chuckled after a particularly deep sniff.

"…What, Soubi?"

"You should probably take a bath before bed, you've been out all day."

"…Are you saying that I smell bad?"

"I didn't say that," the man parroted, giving his sacrifice a smug grin and running a hand through soft, inky locks. "But I need a bath too, come to think of it…" He trailed off, gesturing to the paint that covered his body and was smattered in his hair. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively to match the low, gruff tone of his voice. Soubi was met with an exasperated groan and a soft slap across his wrist by Ritsuka's bristled tail. He laughed.

"SOUBI!"

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Review por favor!


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